


To the Other Side

by rednihilist



Series: Colin Luthor 'Verse [11]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Drama, M/M, Non Consensual, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lin learned humanity from Lionel.</p><p>A Prequel of sorts to CFMWH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Smallville' and certain characters belong to DC Comics, and Miller-Gough et al., respectively. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.

It was almost easy to say the words, make the promises. "Of course," and "Yes, sir," and "I swear." They fell out of his mouth smoothly, dripping and foul like rotted fruit. Lin made the promises and repeated the mantra and very nearly felt nothing while doing it. Not anymore. Hadn't been real for years.

He wasn't even here. Not really.

Lionel told him where to stand, how to stand, how to position himself and where each limb should rest. He told him what expression he should wear, where to look in the room, lips open or closed, eyes wide or half-shut. Lionel stood behind the camera, clicking it himself because of his possessiveness, his obsessive need to only allow certain people around. He'd worked hard, he'd said. He'd bragged to Lin about studying photography. Thought it made him the epitome of genius, the quintessential Renaissance man. Lionel Luthor, now artistic great, with gifts of wit and talent enough to conquer anything, any pursuit. And, oh, how he put those skills to work.

Lin had supposedly turned 13 three months ago. He was almost as tall as Lionel now, nearly as broad in the shoulders. Lionel said he was beautiful, a beautiful piece of work. He called Lin magnificent.

Told Lin to open wide after he put the camera aside.

"See how they turned out?" he asked later. He held them out for Lin to see, wouldn't let him hold the glossy photos himself. "Exquisite, if I do say so myself," Lionel added.

"Keep those at work, in my desk," he grunted out later, reaching down to drag Lin's thighs up and over his hips. "My beautiful work," Lionel whispered. "My prize."

"Should take some more shots," he'd sometimes say later. In the summer, when he caught Lin lying in the grass outside, or when he sat in a chair and watched him swim in the pool. "Beautiful," Lionel would always say, running his hands up Lin's chest and down his arms. "Magnificent."

"Wouldn't hurt to document some of this," he said later, in the other room. One of the techs asked if he wanted a camera, but Lionel didn't reply. Lin turned his head on the table and looked through the glass window. Lionel smiled back at him, and Lin thought it looked like it was genuine and pleased. He looked happy, Lionel did. "Beautiful," he mouthed to Lin, smiling happily the whole time Lin's blood ran out into tubes.

And Lin said, "Of course," and "Yes," and "More," and never looked away. He met Lionel's eyes and memorized every point, every pore, every hair and spot and discoloration. He looked into those eyes when Lionel's mouth laughed and grinned, when it frowned, when it smiled and smiled genuinely. Lin knew every tone of voice, every expression, every nuance of body language of Lionel's. He knew when to bend and when to stand straight, and when to break and survive.

Lin learned how to lie by watching Lionel. He learned how to goad and manipulate and how to flatter. Even business was like an open book to him. He was shepherded by a hand on his back into meetings and dealings, winings and dinings. He waited in Lionel's office numerous times, but the walls were no obstacle and Lionel knew it. Lin would listen in whenever he could, when he was allowed to go without wearing the necklace. He snooped, too, looked around that room and into the safe. Lin saw the photos of himself in Lionel's desk drawer.

They looked worn and well-handled, bent and creased, with fingerprints all over them. Lin had smiled and moved on.

He learned patience from Lionel, or from being close to Lionel, anyway. He learned timing and negotiation. Lin learned. . . about human nature. He watched and listened and knew what it was to be different. Lionel and his business associates, partners, his workers, employees, staff and assistants, all for the most part reacted and acted the same. They said the same things over and over again. One man had repeated Lionel's words back to him in a meeting years after they'd first been said, and Lionel had smiled and said, "Exactly."

People were almost all alike here. That's what Lin had determined. Lionel was the same as every man he dealt with, every worker whose paycheck he signed. They were all the same.

Lin learned humanity from Lionel. He learned how to act, how one _had to_ act, in order to fit in, blend, be a _part of _instead of always and forever separate.

He learned what was expected of him, and so set about exceeding those expectations. He played along and pretended it was real.

Lin pretended he was alive, and succeeded most of the time.

 

 


End file.
